


A Balance of Wants

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Punisher (Comics), Wolverine (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Embarrassment, Emotionally Repressed, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mild Feminization, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Pregnancy Kink, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20278120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: There are things Frank wants that he knows he will never reach for on his own.





	A Balance of Wants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SenkoWakimarin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/gifts).

> Happy birthday to me, this is my self-indulgent little gift to myself.

Frank has long since stopped wondering when his life got so fucking weird. He doesn't question nearly as much of this as he probably should, and honestly, it's probably for the best that he doesn't, because it's all so precariously layered in his mind, rifling through the stacks is liable to be an exercise in masochism. One bad, weird choice leads to another leads to another, and Frank doesn’t really want to sit down and pin the exact philosophical moment where he evidently decided to live in a circus. That sounds unnecessarily unpleasant.

The weirdness, on the other hand, is sometimes _ extremely _pleasant. Yeah, a lot of it involves a good deal of pain, but there's satisfaction behind that pain, and there's other people, people he's only met by giving himself over to the fucked up narrative his life's decided to take.

"Christ, you look good like that," he growls, and it's weird, yeah, having fucking _ Wolverine _on his knees, pinning him back against the battle van, sucking his dick with the same passionate fervor this man seems to take to any job he does. When he pets his fingers through Logan's hair, around the curve of his ear, Logan growls pleasantly, and that feels good, makes Frank do it again. He can't move his hips at all, not the way Logan's shoved him back against the matte-black of the van. 

Logan's nails aren't that sharp, and the claws aren't out, but Frank doesn't always need pain to keep him polite. He likes the way Logan controls this even when he's to one on his knees, likes his confidence, likes how he goes for what he wants. 

The fact that there's a mutant -- one of the more famous X-Men, in fact -- sucking his cock isn't the weirdest part of the moment, which speaks to those multi-tiered levels of faceted weirdness. It's not that they're doing this in the middle of the afternoon, it's not that they're up against the van, though location really is the weird part today.

It's the fact that that the van is parked in the warehouse and that Micro left an hour ago to get supplies, so any moment he could turn back up, and Frank's not sure whether that's a highlight or a risk.

Probably the uncertainty there is the weirdest part. Frank's not often an uncertain man. Can't be, in his line of work. 

And yet when Logan had given him that particular look, Frank hadn't even thought of saying 'no'. It was rare to have anyone else in one of these places, rare to let anyone in this far, just about unheard of anymore to bring anyone back to meet Micro. Frank figures that, of all the colourful spandex crowd he's had to work with -- and against -- Logan's pretty safe.

They'll still probably ditch this particular spot after he's gone, take it out of rotation as a base of operations. Frank and Micro have been at this for long enough, they won't likely even have to discuss it, and it doesn't matter if Logan's weird heightened senses bullshit would probably let him track them down to wherever they end up next time; neither of them are interested in making it easy for anyone.

Logan does not suck cock like Micro. Micro takes it slow, eases into it, makes Frank half crazy with teasing before he really goes to town, makes Frank tell him how he wants it and then makes him work to get it. Lieberman's mouth is warm and soft and he lets Frank fuck his face if Frank asks nice, uses his hands to tease Frank's balls and ass.

It's not like that at all with Logan. Logan lets Frank pet his hair and babble all he wants, but he's not taking suggestions. His hands are locked on Frank's hips, keeping Frank just where he wants, and he sucks hot and messy at him, knows exactly what he wants and how to get it from Frank. Micro makes Frank feel like it's about him, about making Frank feel good, even when he's so out of control with it he's got to be hurting him, pulling his hair and fucking rough into his throat. With Logan, it feels more mutual, if not tilted more toward Logan's enjoyment; Logan wants to suck a dick, and Frank's happens to be convenient. 

Lucky Frank. 

"We gotta hurry up," Frank makes himself say, words dragged through grit teeth. It's hard to talk, much less ask to speed this up, but Frank's not so out of his mind with how good this feels (and looks, and sounds) to have lost track of his sense of time. Micro could be back any minute, really, and Frank's still not sure what he would _ want _ to happen, but what _ will _happen probably won't be anything better than embarrassing.

And Logan has the balls to pull off, baring sharp teeth in a grin as he keeps Frank pinned just where he was. "Boyfriend gonna get mad?" He asks, and then licks over the leaking head of Frank's dick, making Frank hiss. "Doesn't like to share?"

It makes Frank's face burn, thinking about Micro seeing this, imagining the reactions. He knows the one his dick likes best, Micro pushing past the surprise and watching, getting turned on by it. He's thought about it before, alone, getting himself off to the idea of getting fucked by both of them. They both work him over differently, hit completely different buttons on Frank, but the idea of having them together is overwhelmingly good.

"Bet he fucks you slow and sweet, huh," Logan muses, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He sounds the way he does when they're working, when he's teasing, sounds like he's getting mean ideas he knows Frank's going to love. "Maybe I wanna see that."

"Jesus," Frank says, trying to shove Logan back down, swallowing a desperate noise when the bastard just laughs at him. "Never figured you for a homewrecker."

That gets another laugh, rough and growling as Logan licks him, tongue hot and wet. "You don't know th' half of it," he growls, and then blessedly puts his mouth back where Frank needs it. 

Several things happen in quick succession after that. The door opens and Micro's heavy footsteps can be heard tracking across the open space, paper bags jostling in his hands. Frank immediately tries to push Logan away, only to have those hands tighten right to the edge of pain on his hips, shoving him back as Logan swallows him to the root. His head thunks against the side of the van, drawing attention to them. Logan's eyes when Frank looks back down at him, are sparked with calm amusement, and when Frank gives up on manners and actually pulls on that coarse hair, Logan pulls back just enough to leisurely swallow around him, the sensation so hideously good that Frank has to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound he makes, which leaves the room quiet enough to hear Micro call out, "Frank? You okay?"

Frank hopes the look on his face promises as much violence as he feels in his heart when he stares down at the asshole mutant casually torturing him, but all things considered, he kind of doubts it. 

A few seconds of stillness lets him hear Micro's footsteps carrying on over toward the shelves he's set up as a sort of pantry, the rustle of bags as he sets to stowing supplies. Frank hisses an urgent sound through his teeth and Logan actually obeys, amusement still plain in his eyes before he shuts them and starts moving in sincerity, slurping Frank back into his throat only to pull back tight along the length, fucking his own face at a brutal pace as he holds Frank firm against the van. 

It seems prudent to leave his hand right where it is, covering his mouth to silence all the desperate noises he knows he'd be making if they were alone. Something about the way Logan looks on his knees makes Frank feel a little sluttier than usual, needy and eager. All he can hear is the wet, rhythmic noise of Logan's mouth on him and the ocean-rush of his heart pounding in his ears. He's immensely grateful for the solidity of the van behind him because his knees are weak enough to make him lean back hard on it for support.

"Frank, I had an idea about -- oh for fuck's sake, sorry!"

Nothing proves more that orgasm is a thing totally outside one's control after a certain point better to Frank than the fact that it's the sound of Micro's voice and the sight of him throwing a hand over his eyes and turning his head as he's backing around the far side of the van that heralds the end for him. He squeezes his eyes shut, searing pleasure scouring through him, and Logan doesn't miss a trick. He swallows easily, not pulling away until Frank's squirming, dick aching with over sensitivity. 

Then the short, hairy bastard sits back on his heels, licks his lips as he tucks Frank considerately back into his Wranglers, and says, "Lets go hear what your boyfriend was thinking, c'mon."

Frank wants to argue that he doesn't _ have _a boyfriend, that Logan's the one who was keeping them there. He wants, a little, to punch the mutant in his smug face, despite knowing the damage never sticks. Mostly, he's just embarrassed and yet awash in the feel-good haze that comes after a spectacular orgasm, so he buttons his fly and offers Logan a hand up and does as suggested.

And he _ will _ say, despite any number of compromising situations they've been in together, Frank's _ never _ had the pleasure of seeing Micro go a slow, beet red at the sight of him before. And it _ is _a pleasure because Micro doesn't look mad, he doesn't even look irritable about walking in on that; he looks like a teen caught with a skin mag; helplessly turned on and trying to hide it. 

"You need to hang a sock on the door or somethin' if you're gonna be doing that shit in here," he grumbles, like he can pretend to be annoyed by it, like Frank's not seen him worked up enough times to know all his tells.

Logan has to make it worse, because evidently that's what he's best at these days. "Shoulda stuck around and watched. Castle's got a cute face when he's cummin' like that."

That gets an odd sort of laugh, Micro's eyes glancing away from Frank to look at Logan, then right back to Frank, considering even as he's red faced and trying to play cool. "Yeah, I've seen."

"When his dick's in someone else's mouth?"

"Jesus Christ," Frank grumbles, shooting Logan a look, hoping he'll shut up. "Microman, didn't you have somethin' you wanted to say?"

And there's something -- nothing but trouble, Frank's pretty sure -- in the quiet moment that follows, Lieberman and Logan watching each other, assessing, before the three of them push on through the awkward and focus on the job at hand, the plan Micro's cooked up to give them an edge. Frank makes some private note to do something nice for Micro later, sort of make up for the awkward shit without acting like there's anything to make up for (because there isn't), and thinks that'll be the end of it.

When it comes to the weird shit, Frank's always been strangely optimistic about the depths any one thing can go to.

Except of course, three days and some change later, the job's done and Logan is still stuck to him like glue when by all rights he should be heading off for that next green fucking horizon, and Frank's admittedly rusty in the 'differentiating a threat from sexual interest' department, often responds to unexpected touches with violence. Maybe Logan understands that, or maybe he expects it, or maybe he just likes Frank's hands on him enough to reach out for his shoulder regardless of the response he has to anticipate by now. He doesn't even manage to make contact before Frank turns, wraps his hands in the front of Logan's coat, and slams him around into the wall of one of the exterior store houses on the warehouse property Frank and Micro are currently squatting in.

"Keyed up, Princess?" Logan asks, baring sharp teeth as he grips onto Frank's wrists and squeezes, just enough for it to ache. He's a short little fuck, but he's strong, would be strong even without the mutant shit, Frank thinks. Feral ball of survivalist energy. "You worried I'm gonna get in the way of Boyfriend giving you what you want when you get in there?"

"Shut up," Frank growls, and he doesn't let up the pressure he's holding Logan back with because Logan hasn't relaxed the grip on his wrists, and he's not sure if he wants him to or not. "That's not --"

Logan's laughter always has teeth, it's always barbed. Sometimes Frank hates it, sometimes it scratches and catches in his head and makes him want to hurt someone to make it stop. Sometimes, though, sometimes it's good, like nails down his spine, the burn of good alcohol, mean but just right. "You gonna tell me you aren't hopin' he'll throw you a fuck after all that work you just did?" Logan asks. "I know you're hopin' _ someone _will." 

Kissing Logan is an exercise in a really weird breed of masochism. He's short, so the angle's always bad, and he tastes like a fucking ash tray most of the time. Facial hair is bristly and weird against Frank's face, especially when Frank's got his own rough stubble from living the last three days rough. 

And yet Frank doesn't resist at all when Logan drags him down, and he opens quickly enough when teeth find his lips. His hands are still clutching on Logan, but the weight holding him is different, it's Frank leaning on him, easing into pliable, because there's certain reactions to certain stimuli Frank will never be able to help, and his brain turning off when Logan's got his tongue in Frank's mouth is one of those.

Kicking his ankles to throw him off balance, Logan shifts them, moves them smoothly so he's the one that's got Frank up against the wall, and all Frank does is angle his head out of the way so Logan can lean in and bite, hard, at the side of his neck. Logan leaves bruises, stinging marks that last for days. Micro usually tries not to leave any marks, always says Frank doesn't need his help finding extra hurts. 

"Like a cat in heat," Logan muses, and his nose is cold under Frank's ear as he licks over the mark he's made. "You want me to fuck you right out here, get you worked up till Boyfriend comes out looking for you? Show him you’re just a cheap slut who takes it where he can get it?"

Not really what Frank had been thinking off, and the twist of shame and humiliation that comes with the words -- the implication that Lieberman deserves better, that Frank’s _ cheating _ \-- makes Frank’s head go stupid for a minute. It takes real effort to make himself fetch up the appropriate words. "We’re outside. Neighbours might see."

The dockyard on the east side of the property would be blocked by the sheds, but there's an old plastics manufacturing lot to the south that's always got people coming and going, and it has a clear view through the alleys between the out buildings. If they're lucky, anyone who's out at six AM on a Monday will assume they're fighting, or high, just a couple homeless guys shoving each other around. He and Micro will ditch this spot and pull it from the rotation of bases in the coming days, but that doesn't mean he wants to draw extra attention now.

"You want it though," Logan growls, and Frank shivers in spite of himself. Logan's always had a better sense for some of the filthier things Frank's into, like he can smell an exhibition kink or hear the way Frank's heart rate picks up at the sight of bloody knuckles. Hell, maybe that last one he _ can _manage, Frank doesn't know how the fancy heightened sense work. “How a filthy trick like you pinned down a good man like that ‘s a real mystery.”

For a moment, Logan holds him there, and Frank doesn't fight it. Shame and want all tangled together isn’t a new feeling, especially not with Logan, and the urge to punch him never really leaves but for the fleeting moment of orgasm, so that’s not really such a much either.

Honestly, Frank’s dick is more than half hard and the idea of sitting through whatever pleasant talk or whatever Micro might have waiting doesn't appeal to Frank the way getting fucked does. Fucked the way Logan does it, rough and wild and bruising, or more like Micro might ease into later, sweeter, mindful, testing what parts of him are hurt and what parts can withstand a rougher touch. Logan would fuck him like it's his prize for a job well done, Micro always makes it feel like something outside the job entirely.

Either way, he wants it. 

Logan lets him loose after a second, and Frank makes himself hold his own weight, makes himself straighten his clothes and pretend his jock isn't serving as an improvised cage. "Got a bed inside," Frank says lamely, too offhand to not sound practiced, and Logan grins again, all teeth.

Inside it's dim-lit and cool. Where he can, Micro keeps the temperature just so for the sake of his computers, regardless of the weather. Frank doesn't mind, really; in the summer he even appreciates it. What he cares about more than the temperature is whether Lieberman is awake or not. 

He's not sure which he's hoping for. There's part of him that wants more than he will ever reach for on his own, greedy and grasping for contact, and he knows Logan well enough after this long to know he's not going to get rid of him today. Logan likes fucking him after they do a job -- but then, Logan also likes fucking him after they fight, whoever comes out on top of it. Seems like Logan doesn't need much of an excuse, honestly.

Micro, though, Micro is more patient. He sits back and watches Frank tie himself in knots over want-versus-need, gauges his injuries and his temper, and makes a move when he feels it'll be best for them both. Frank's only ever seen Micro desperate to touch him a few times, and it wasn't sex on his mind at all, just panic at seeing how bad Frank had gotten himself hurt.

Usually Frank appreciates that about Lieberman, the way he waits, the analytical, neatly-paced nature of his motions. Logan being aggressive and demanding fits, Lieberman turning a fuck into something that feels... considerate, drawn out to make Frank savour how good it feels, that fits too. 

Mixing the two things is a dirty, secret fantasy he never planned on bringing up with either man. Meeting up with Logan in the middle of a job they were both intent on doing and deciding to work it together with Lieberman running data for them just dragged that fantasy to the forefront, dangling the possibility in his face. 

Too much to ask for. Which is why he can feel his face heating up when Micro turns away from his array of screens, glasses seeming to glow just like the monitors, and level them both with a considering look. Frank feels stupid for thinking he might have been asleep -- he had to have been awake to turn off the security system they'd put together for this place. And Frank knows there's cameras all over the property, very few blind spots, so it's very likely Micro, sitting at his computers, had already gotten an eyeful of them making out by the sheds like horny teens.

Which of course makes Frank remember that Lieberman's already gotten more of a show than that.

"You gettin' shy, Princess?" Logan asks, and Frank wants to hit him, feels his fingers twitch into a fist. "Thought you were gonna show me your room."

Frank swallows, glances at Micro -- still watching, face hard to read in the dim with the light of all the computers behind him -- and then nods. He's still hard enough that it's uncomfortable, desperate for someone, and if it feels weird to talk about it in front of Lieberman, well, he figures they'll both get over it.

"You gonna invite Boyfriend or do I gotta do it?"

Frank's face is hot, and the look he shoots Logan just gets a filthy smirk in return, Logan's head cocked at an angle like he's waiting for an answer. When he doesn't get one, Logan turns toward the computers and the man still silently observing them -- Frank thinks he can see that thin, amused smile on Micro's face, which should be a good sign but instead makes something tangle all the tighter in Frank's chest -- and Logan makes a broad gesture with both hands as if to ask 'well then?' before he asks, "You need that invitation engraved, or what?"

Evidently, he does not. Micro laughs, turning away to type something on his computers that makes the screens go dark, so only the low light from the overheads keeps the big main room illuminated, and Frank curses under his breath and heads toward the back rooms. He should shower, he should change out of sweaty, grimy clothes. He and Logan have fucked rough a number of times, because that seems to be the standard circumstance of their paths crossing -- no shower, no bed, no extra comforts. Logan seems to like him best when he's sweaty and beat to shit.

Again, Micro is different. He usually waits until Frank's cleaned up to touch him, never made a move until it was plain Frank was comfortable with it. Frank's come back a couple times from jobs that wound him up wrong, grabbed Lieberman and pulled him in, dragged him down, but even like that it's usually a desperate exchange of hand jobs or Frank dropping to his knees and sucking Lieberman's cock, but Lieberman himself is always patient, careful.

He's not nervous, really; he's so fucking eager it feels wrong, like he's throwing himself headfirst into something he hasn't figured out the dangers of.

They'd turned the warehouse's back offices into a sort of slap-dash apartment. One room for sleeping, one room with the camp stove and griddle set up, along with a microwave and a card table Frank found in a dumpster. It’s not so much a bed, what they’re sharing in the other room, but a pair of mattress pads held to an air mattress with a fitted sheet, held off the floor on plywood foundation. It’s far from the most comfortable bed, but it’s better, Frank supposes, than the floor.

Logan takes in the arrangement and makes an easy noise of appreciation before he starts peeling out of his clothes. Whatever else Frank might have expected in preamble from him, he’s not sure; they’ve only fucked in a bed on three other occasions, and none of those were exactly rife with a lot of lead in.

Frank tries to take comfort in that. It’s all the same, it’s just like every other time Logan’s pinned him down after giving him that particular look; being in one of Frank’s own safe houses doesn’t change it and neither does Lieberman, stripping behind him. His hands move on automatic, pulling off his coat, working open his boots, dragging his shirt over his head until he’s in nothing but socks and his underwear. 

Hands slide around his waist, catching his wrists as he’s moving to pull that last layer off and holding him still as Micro kisses at his shoulder, the back of his neck. Lieberman feels different against him than Logan, which feels so stupidly obvious to realize but it’s more than physical. Lieberman is solid and secure to lean his weight on, he’s never looking for weaknesses, he’s not a threat momentarily turned to a source of pleasure. 

Pressed up against his back, Micro is soft and warm and his hands hold Frank’s still without clutching. He’s steady, he doesn’t need force to get Frank to comply because Frank trusts him, even when the ravaging monster in his head wants him on the attack. Lieberman keeps him grounded, keeps him human. 

“Knew you liked it sweet, Princess,” Logan growls, and Frank opens his eyes, only then realizing he’s had them shut since Micro touched him. Logan's about a foot shorter than him, and his hands on Frank are rougher than Micro's ever will be. They're warn and dry and his knuckles feel like the threats Frank knows they are as he slips his fingers under the waistband of Frank's underwear. He steps into Frank's space, pinning him between two warm bodies, and he pushes his hand into Frank's underwear, quick to get hold of Frank's dick.

Smug isn't a good look on anyone, in Frank's opinion, except for how sometimes it is. Logan wrapping his fingers around Frank and getting an immediate groan in reply looks so smug Frank thinks he should want to hit him, but he doesn't. When his hand twitches, Micro lets it go, and he grabs for Logan, fingers tight on his forearm. 

"Easy, Princess," Logan says, low and rumbling like he’s talking to a spooked dog, and Frank tries to steady his breathing, tries to force himself to be obedient, to be calm. He wants it. He's thought about it enough. He knows this place is safe, he knows Logan doesn't operate in such a way that he'd go through the effort to get Frank like this before trying to kill him. 

One big thing in Logan's favour, he's unfailingly decent about shit like that. 

So Frank puts in the effort to shove the little voice crying 'what if' to the bottom of his brain and work beyond it, letting Micro support him while Logan's working on stroking him to full hardness. 

"We're gonna take real good care of you, right?" Logan says, and Lieberman hums in agreement and kisses the side of Frank's neck, tucks his head between Frank's shoulder and neck and starts working a mark there. He doesn't do that often, and when he does he's too careful about it, leaves the bruises where they're easy to cover, easy to forget. 

He likes this. He likes the way it feels, stuck between them, not a shred of control over the situation in his hands. Micro has a particular sort of control, he holds the reins loose and gives Frank freedom to run however he sees fit. It's never like that with Logan; Logan has him on a choke collar, everything fast and hard and filthy, and the dichotomy, now that he's got both at once, is alarming. Cold tiles in a hot shower, candy coated bacon. Alarming but good, something he wants more of, something he wants to sink into and never leave. 

The hands on his hips shift, Lieberman looking for an easier way to grip him, to keep from dropping him on his ass as he says, "How did you wanna do this?" over Frank's shoulder, clearly talking to Logan. Might be the first real words he's spoken directly to the mutant, and they're about how the two of them should go about fucking Frank. It's a realization that makes Frank clench his teeth against a telling noise. 

Logan hums a low sound and lets Frank go, stepping back. "I told him earlier I wouldn't mind seein' you fuck him.”

Frank can feel Lieberman processing that, wants to laugh except he can’t quite trust his voice. After a moment of a pause, Lieberman says, “Okay, so are we taking turns or...?”

The huff of laughter that gets is mean, gentled by the way that hand on him stays slow and firm. “I got the feeling his mouth ain't gonna be worth a damn once you get going."

"I can suck your dick just fine, shithead," Frank grumbles, and then stills when Micro pets over his collarbone, down his pectorals, the slow drag of his nails through Frank's chest hair oddly grounding. Logan just leers, but his dick is hard and Frank wants it. He wants Lieberman to fuck him, wants Logan in his mouth when it happens, wants to be caught between them like that, usable, good for them. 

"Guess we'll see," Logan rumbles, stepping aside to let Lieberman steer Frank toward the bed. "If you can't manage, I never minded seconds before. See if one of us can't knock you up this time."

It's stupid, the way that winds Frank up, the way the words crawl up his spine and spread fingers of electric fire in his brain. Logan's made the comment many times in the past, calls Frank Princess and Pretty Girl and Sweetheart, talks about how good he'll be once someone finally fucks him pregnant, and it's humiliating, stupid, absolutely ridiculous, and it gets Frank hotter than any other dirty talk has ever managed. Lieberman spending hours holding Frank on edge, mapping his body with fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue, can't make Frank feel more turned on, closer to cumming than words alone should ever be able to manage.

Behind him, he can feel Micro assessing, gauging the reaction before letting him sink down onto the bed, helping pull his underwear off the rest of the way. "You like that thought, huh," he says, and that's -- that's certainly something all on it's own, the way he says it. Doesn't ask because it's not really a question; it's plain enough to him at face value and why not? Micro knows him better than anyone, so of course he'd be able to see plain how turned on that gets Frank. "Let's make it happen then."

Lieberman doesn't leave a lot to chance. He's careful, he plans, he figures things out and acts on information, more logic driven compared to Frank's more emotional hard-wiring. He keeps lube on hand, squirreled away in every safe house and bolt hole hideaway he knows about. Frank's found some, little foil packets, in the glove box of the battle van.

When Micro pulls away to grab a palmful of lube from the pump bottle on the floor by the head of the bed, he doesn't fish around for condoms. He usually doesn't bother, but with the conversation having gone where it had, and given that they never had a third person directly involved before, Frank just sort of expects... 

Lieberman touches him and he bites on his lip and makes himself spread his legs, laying on his back and watching the ceiling as Lieberman starts working fingers into him. 

It feels good. Frank closes his eyes and worries his lip, because the alternative is looking when Logan steps closer to him and runs a hand from ankle to knee, undisguised hunger on his face as he watches Lieberman's hand work.

Frank had always thought 'intimate' was a totally separate and unique concept from 'filthy'. Intimate was the sweet shit, the way Micro touched him after stitching a wound or the quiet moments after a fight where he and Logan were both putting their brains back together, getting out of the kill-what-moves mode. Unspoken connection, intense, not really even physical, that's intimate. Intimate and filthy were meant to be different.

This, this is both. Lieberman has fantastic hands, he's stronger than Frank thinks most anyone else ever sees, and Frank is perfectly well aware that Lieberman can finger him to completion if he sets his mind to it; they did that a few times when they'd first decided sex was an option on the table. It's not something Frank lets other people do, touch him like that for so long, and Logan gripping onto his thigh, holding one leg open at a wide, straining angle takes that indulgence and makes it almost performative, Frank biting back noises as Micro gets him wet.

He should've done this part himself. He's not as thorough and it doesn't feel the same as letting Lieberman do it, but Logan's seen it before, wouldn't be looking at him like he was meat he can't wait to taste. Frank closes his eyes and twists his head to one side, strangling a whine when Logan shoves Micro out of the way enough to press his own fingers inside.

"Easy trick," Logan says, that growling tease he uses when he's got Frank pinned, and Frank knows if he looks the man'd be grinning again, all teeth, mean-but-not. 

Micro gives a short laugh -- Frank's never really been easy for him. "You're makin' him shy," he says, amused. "He goes any redder, I'm gonna start worrying his heart'll blow."

The hands on him pull away, leaving him clenching on nothing but body-warm lube, and he can't swallow the noise that builds in his chest. Lieberman and Logan couldn't hardly be more different, but that's one thing the pair of them have perfectly in common; they both drag this out like it's a game, make him just about wild before they really give him what he wants.

Frank feels the mattress dip, the rock of it. Air mattresses are terrible with weight distribution, one of the reasons he and Lieberman tend to sleep in shifts, rather than together. The three of them together are liable to pop the damn thing, and Frank almost thinks it'd be a favour, force them to find something better, and then the mattress rocks again, Logan making a dissatisfied grunt. 

"That ain't gonna work," Logan grumbles, and when Frank cracks an eye open, Micro's got his head set to one side, assessing. 

Finding a position that works for everyone is a sort of welcome momentary pause. Gives Frank a few seconds to pull himself together, out of his own head and that desperate, needy place he went sometimes when the sex was particularly good. Seems wrong that he should already be sinking into that place when he hasn't gotten anything yet but half a hand job and some fingers.

In the end, they have him laying sort of cockeyed on the bottom corner of the bed, allowing his head to fall back over the side at a reasonable height to Logan's groin, Lieberman hiking him up by the thighs. Laid out like that between the pair of them, he feels a moment of doubt, of overwhelming mental anguish at allowing himself to be made this vulnerable by them both, and then Logan's rough fingers tap sharply against his cheek, popping twice, and he opens his mouth on reflex and lets the mutant feed him several inches of hot, leaking cock.

Something to suck on, the heat and solidity of a body before him, something to grab onto, distracts him from the initial press of Lieberman pushing slow and careful into his ass, and then he's just laying there, hands over his head to grip Logan about the hips, heels locked around Micro's waist, heart slamming in his chest. 

Lieberman moves first, surprising him as he rolls sharply forward, seating fully so Frank can't help but moan around Logan's dick. The sound earns him a pleased growl, and he does his best to focus on that, on the taste and smell of Logan now carefully fucking his mouth. Logan smells like sweat and turned earth and Frank's buried in that smell, consumed by it, eyes closed as Logan's balls strike his face and his cock presses into his throat. 

Caught between them, Frank feels usable and wanted and like he's exactly where he should be. Logan runs his hands over the column of Frank's neck, thumbs stroking his throat, and it's not a threat, it's not choking or even uncomfortable, it's -- it's careful, it's appreciative, things Logan hasn't really been before when they're fucking out in some backwoods campsite or behind debris in some filthy alley or smoking battlefield. Lieberman sets a steady, hard pace, and once he's sure Frank's going to be good and hold where he is, he slides his hands up Frank's flanks, leaning forward to get a better angle, the weight of his gut and the rocking of his body somewhere between teasing and just good on Frank's straining cock.

He wants to focus on Logan in his mouth, on keeping his tongue working, on the heat and taste and suction that earns him those rumbles and odd words of praise. Thumbs skirt over the swell of his throat and Lieberman hitches in hard and Frank chokes trying to gasp.

There are words being said; Frank can't hear much like this and he doubts he's expected to respond. He keeps his eyes closed and his mouth soft and open, trying to be good, trying to stay focused, and then Logan pulls away anyway and Frank's heart sinks. He can feel drool running from the corner of his mouth toward his ear, and then the swipe of fingers brushing it away, smearing over his lips. He sucks the offered fingers into his mouth without thinking, moaning low in his throat as Lieberman chuckles and fucks him just a little harder.

"Pretty little cocksucker," Logan growls down at him, and Frank thinks about biting his fingers, works his tongue between them instead. Tastes salt and copper and clean skin, until the pleasure reaches another crest and he's gasping another moan, head falling back again. Logan wipes his spit off on Frank’s chest and crouches down to talk in Frank’s ear. "Boyfriend knows just how to give it to you, huh. Fuck you so stupid you forget how to use your mouth."

"Shuddup," Frank manages with some effort, and his voice is rough and rasping, throat sore despite Logan only making use of it for a few minutes. Speaking in general is a harder task than Frank was expecting, because his brain has a habit of leaking out his ears when Lieberman really gets going. Or maybe it’s his dick it’s leaking out of, he can’t really say.

His dick, which could be being shown a lot more attention just now. When Frank tries to work his hand between himself and Lieberman, Logan casually stands back up, gets hold of both his wrists, holding them easily. Frank could struggle and break that hold, but he doesn’t. He takes it, takes it all.

Takes being held still, takes Lieberman holding on and giving it slow and hard the way he likes to when he wants to make it last. 

Logan's dick is just out of reach, so even if Frank strains he can't get what he wants, and when he makes the effort, Logan gives him a low, mean laugh while his thumb presses slow circles against the bones of one captured wrist. "Nah, Princess, I already made up my mind," he drawls, and Frank makes a noise as Logan grips himself with his free hand and stokes lazily. "Don't you worry, you'll get me off. Anytime Boyfriend wants to give someone else a chance."

Micro makes a noise at that, something amused and annoyed, grumbles something that sounds like "gimme a minute," as he picks up the pace. Before, with him leaning forward to run his hands along Frank's ribs and stomach, it had been a sort of sweet torture, his dick pressed between them and given at least the mindless attention of Lieberman's gut rocking back and forth with his thrusts. Now Lieberman hitches his hands around Frank's thighs, lifting him with that crude strength and dragging him over the edge of the bed, standing up straight and fucking hard and fast and without touching Frank's cock at all. 

What had been a high five of sorts to his prostate was suddenly a devastating punch, over and over, but there was almost no contact against his cock like this, and Frank felt himself dragged closer, heat coiling, muscles tensing, mindless as he tries to rock in time with every one of Micro's motions, held back by Logan's grip on him.

"Please," he groans, writhing without purpose, letting his back drag at the sheets as, unable and not really desiring to shake the grip of either man. He moans at the sight of Logan's hand tightening around himself, coherent enough to understand that it was the noise he was making, his inability to keep still, that had earned such a response. "Please, I just..."

"Not yet, Frank," Lieberman says, that easy commanding tone that came so naturally to him like this. "You got a ways to go still."

"Don't worry, I'll be quicker about it," Logan purrs, something dark and promising in that growl. "Wouldn't want Princess to be too sensitive for me."

What exactly is so good about having them both talking, handling him so easily, like this is something they do all the time, Frank couldn't say. It makes Frank shudder, his cock hot and dripping as they hold him. He moans again, low and breathy, and then Lieberman hitches, two short, sharp thrusts, and cums buried deep. 

It feels good, and the way Logan holds him as he whines at Micro's withdraw, wrists locked against his chest in one of Logan's hands, makes him feel hideously, wonderfully weak, completely usable.

"Hands where I leave 'em," Logan commands, and Frank obeys, panting as Logan steps away, moving to trade places with Lieberman. He keeps his fingers curled loose against his chest, tries to steady his heart rate, his breathing. 

Lieberman kneels beside the bed, and Frank can't hang his head over the edge anymore, but when he turns his head towards Micro, Micro presses a soft kiss to his forehead, sweet and gentle. Logan grabs him under the knees, his feet hanging toward the floor now encouraged to lock behind Logan, and he gasps and hisses when fingers press against his hole. 

He feels tender already, but Logan is careful, persistent, checking him brusquely for god-knows-what -- Lieberman would never be rough enough to tear him up, so he can't imagine what there would be to look for -- before he's fitting his cock in without warning.

There's a lot of sensation, almost all of it good, tearing through Frank as Logan jumps straight to his end-of-game hard, fast jackhammer fucking. Usually Frank would have a comment about that, something half-scathing about how bad Logan clearly needs it, but at this point, Frank's having a little trouble keeping himself together. He can cum without a hand on his dick, but it's harder, more of an effort -- and at this point, it's taking all his scattered focus to keep his hands on his chest like he'd been told, because his dick is leaking wet all over his stomach, matting down against his pubes, and he badly wants _ something _to touch him there. 

Close. He's so close but it’s not enough, leaving him hanging in this no-man’s land of needy hunger, desperate for more and unable to reach for it.

"Sure thing between the two of us," Lieberman murmurs, low and private, just for Frank. "One of us is gonna knock you up tonight."

Hitching toward Logan's grip, Frank squeezes his eyes shut and hisses through his teeth. He feels a burning in his eyes, tightness in his chest, good so strong he might cry. "Shut up," he breathes, horrified the words, by how good they sound. His hands twitch and he digs his fingers against his chest to keep them where he’d been told. "Shut up, don't…"

That gets him a sweet noise, a sort of crooning hum as Lieberman leans against the bed and reaches down the length of Frank's torso. His hand on Frank's cock is loose, teasing, not what Frank needs at all as Logan digs his nails into Frank's skin and keeps pounding away. "What'dyou got to be shy about," he purrs, soothing. "We'll get there. And if it doesn't take this time, Logan's gonna come back and help me until it does."

Frank whines, something high and desperate that doesn't sound like him at all, and when Micro squeezes him, he knows he's not going to be able to hold out. He tries; muscles strain in his thighs, his spine tenses as he tries to buck, gritting his teeth. He hurts in a thin and sharp way, every thrust from Logan punctuated by a flare of pain as prominent as as the wet slap of skin. 

He wants to focus on that, use the pain like an anchor to hold out. Then Micro presses his lips to Frank's neck, mouthing against the mark Logan had made earlier, rolling his thumb just so, and Frank cums, orgasm hitting like a bullet through his spine, semen splattering against Logan's stomach. 

Micro grins against Frank's skin as Logan falters, snarling a low, irritable noise. He's still buried in Frank, and even holding still it feels like too much. He's shaking, sweaty and worn out. 

"I wasn't done yet," Logan grinds out.

Frank feels his dick twitch fitfully when Lieberman gives Logan that bland look he's so good at, brow hiked up high, and advises flatly, "so keep going."

It burns and it aches and it feels so good Frank thinks it might drive him completely crazy. He’s aware, faintly, of Lieberman touching him, hand hot and wet where he grips Frank’s thigh, pressing it back, holding against Frank’s instinctive urge to close up. It's not like he could get far anyway, not with Logan standing there, hands braced under his knees, pushing him forward to fold him in half. 

On their own, Logan will tease, give him what he wants and then get slow, grind for a while until Frank snarls or, more often, pleads. He knows how to wind Frank up, how to twist him into knots and drive him to a place where nothing matters but how good he feels. 

Doing that now, Frank thinks he'd die, his heart would explode or he'd bust a blood vessel in his brain. Maybe Logan knows it, or maybe Logan's just as ready as Frank, because he doesn't slow down or taunt him or demand that he beg; he fucks Frank with single minded intensity, like a sprinter in sight of the finish line. 

He feels Logan's hips digging against his ass, watches his face hitch to a snarl as orgasm barrels over him, and then Frank gasps, trying to arch his back as he cums a second time, dick still mostly soft. It's a bizarre feeling, overwhelmingly good, masking the discomfort and strange, private disappointment of Logan pulling out of him.

All three of them are slick with sweat and filthy besides. Frank, breathless and shaken, can only marvel at how disgusting sex always feels once it's over. He feels like his groin and ass are soaked, dripping with cum -- a mess that's quickly getting cold. 

Lieberman huffs a satisfied, worn out noise and moves to sit beside the bed, leaning against it, head cocked toward Frank. Logan moves to sit on the edge of the bed, next to where Frank is sprawled. He pats Frank on the thigh and Frank forces himself not to startle at the contact. It's not hard; he feels like his body is comprised mainly of overcooked pasta.

"I needa smoke," Logan says after a minute, leaning down to grab his jacket, fishing for his cigar case. That's as good as praise, coming from him; he told Frank once that smoking a good cigar was the only proper tribute to a good fuck. Frank didn't particularly care for cigars, but he sort of got the sentiment. 

"Gimme a second, I'll crack you a window," Micro says from the floor, and Frank finds himself surprised by how easy it is to relax. He's drifting, coasting on the endorphin rush of two orgasms only minutes apart. "Think I got an empty can you could ash into."

It's domestic. Casual. Lieberman easy and relaxed like he is with Frank, Logan not so coiled as Frank's used to. It's shockingly disappointing when Logan shakes his head and pushes to his feet with a sigh, cigar clamped between his teeth.

"I got people I gotta meet early," he says, vague enough it could sound like an excuse to run now that he's gotten his rocks off, regretful enough that Frank thinks it's probably true. "B'sides, me 'n air beds don't usually get along well, either." 

Frank closes his eyes, hands folded loose on his chest and stomach. He's going to need a shower, and he's self aware enough to know that sooner or later the run of a pleasant after-glow will be yanked from under his feet the way it always is, by guilt and self-loathing over the weakness of character that let him get to this place. 

"Fair enough," Lieberman says, dragging himself to his feet anyway. "I'll shut off the security shit so you can get through the gate."

"'Preciate it," Logan mumbles around the cigar. There's a momentary quiet, only the sounds of Logan dragging his clothes on to mask the noise coming from the dockyard. Frank jerks when a hand grips his leg, eyes open, hands tightening, and gets a smirk from Logan for it. "See ya around, Princess. Be nice to your boyfriend when you start comin' down, else I'm gonna tell him how much better he could be doin'."

Frank manages to raise a middle finger, eyes drifting closed again. He has to get up and shower. Nap, breakfast, brief Lieberman on the next move he wants to make, in that order. The world is moving and he needs to jump back into that march.

He lays there and listens to Micro's bare feet against the floor as he follows after Logan to see him out. Lays there and lets himself feel good for a minute, borrowed time he should be using constructively but instead simply acknowledges he'll feel guilty for having whether he basks in it or not. 

When Lieberman comes back, he's got a wet cloth with him. Frank cracks an eye and sees it, hums a passive noise, and accepts it when Lieberman sits beside him and starts mopping the drying cum out of his pubes and off his skin. 

It's not enough to really clean him up, he really will need to take that shower sooner or later, but it's enough that he doesn't feel super gross when Lieberman carefully lays down beside him. They're both laying the wrong way, so their legs hang off the edge, but Frank complies to the way Lieberman pulls him in and holds him anyway.

"Can't believe you wanna try for kids but won't let me marry you," Micro says, mouth against Frank's shoulder. It's a tease, just Micro's usual brand of taunting, but it makes something in Frank squirm nonetheless. "You know I'd take care of you. Anything you want."

It's a tease, and not a new one. The number of times Frank's felt Lieberman shudder through a world-class orgasm while muttering about marrying him, keeping him home in bed, treating him right and making him feel good -- he can't count how many times he's heard it. Frank figures everyone has a kink, and it ain't like fantasizing about marriage is hurting anyone.

Except sometimes Frank can't help thinking about it, about being married again, about how they're not, not really, but how Lieberman does take care of him, comes up with money, makes sure he's eating and sleeping on some kind of schedule. Thinks about how he'd kind of like that, in a different world, a world without a war for him to fight, how he'd like to be Lieberman's wife. Or husband. Or whatever Lieberman wanted him to be, really.

It's dangerous to think of that, and as the guilt starts creeping in around it, Frank knows he should distance himself. Isolate for a little while, clean up and come back and take a shift for sleeping. He can't play that game, can't let himself want what can't ever really be had.

"Yeah, sure," he breathes, soft enough there's a chance Micro won't even hear, and lets himself be held.


End file.
